


Of Performers and Properties

by aaliendolls (teenagewitchofficial)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Show Business, D/s tendencies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, McCree hates snot tape, Mention of past trauma, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 17:49:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11583147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenagewitchofficial/pseuds/aaliendolls
Summary: Jesse McCree is an ex-military props' master. Hanzo Shimada is a former child actor.A little romance is always welcome on set.





	Of Performers and Properties

It had been a wild night. Hanzo had sprung a date on Jesse at the very last moment. Swinging by the workshop after the day’s filming had concluded, the actor was treating Jesse to dinner at a real fancy restaurant that Jesse had eyed it for ages but never had occasion to go in. Afterwards, they ended up at a cute little hole-in-the wall bar with a swing band. They talked, drank and watched as men and women in 50s getups danced to the band’s rhythm. The bar led to a walk along the seawall that ended in Hanzo’s hotel room.

 They sat on the couch, kissing, hands roaming, giggling tipsily until Hanzo had suckled on Jesse’s ear, drawing a throaty moan from the man. It only took seconds for the pair to be hastily unbuttoning vests and clawing at zippers. Jesse pushed Hanzo’s shirt back and off his shoulders, revealing the large tattoo which engulfed Hanzo’s left arm. He ran his finger down the other man’s forearm, following the twisting edges of the golden line which ran through the sleeve. 

 “Beautiful,” Jesse said, breathily. He was more than a little drunk and definitely overwhelmed with the gorgeous, glowing man that was almost _on top_ of him.

 “Thank you,” Hanzo murmured as he grabbed Jesse’s chin. He tilted Jesse’s face up, and met his lips with an impassioned kiss. They sat there for a few moments, kissing hungrily, until Hanzo stood up.

 “Bedroom, now.”

 “Well darlin’, I’m mor’n happy to do whatever it is you’re plannin’ right here,”

 “Forgive me, but I have been patiently waiting to undress and fuck you all night, and I am tired of it.”

 Jesse would have been lying if he said that the Hanzo’s commanding tone wasn’t sending spikes of hot arousal throughout his entire body. A little bit in shock at Hanzo’s brashness, Jesse allowed himself to be hauled up off the couch, and led by his hand into a large bedroom. He was herded towards the bed by the shorter man.

 “Be good,” Hanzo all but purred in his ear as Jesse was shoved onto the bed, “and watch.”

 Hanzo stripped the last of his own clothing off, peeling his briefs off excruciatingly, deliberately slowly. His eyes were hungry and dark, and he licked his lips as he wrapped his hand around-

 “Oy, jefe!”

 The voice yanked Jesse out of his daydream and back into the small, clean diner he had been sitting in before his imagination had run away with him. He stuffed himself, foolishly, against the wall of the booth, trapped by the assistant prop master, Sombra. She was a tiny, tough woman who terrified almost every department without fail. She was brash and mysterious, and a damn-good builder. Across from them was Hana Song, a young but brilliant special-effects artist. Along with Lúcio Correia dos Santos - the music director of the production the four of them had been working on for nearly six months.

 Sombra’s small, calloused hand rested on Jesse’s arm, and her face showed telltale signs of amusement. One groomed, patterned eyebrow drawn so close to her hairline Jesse though it might fly off her forehead. 

 “Thinking about our lead again, aren’t you?” Sombra’s accusatory tone drew a chuckle from the pair on the other side of the table, and Jesse bristled.

 “What? Naw!” He spluttered, “Just zonin’ out - we did just work a 17 hour day, ya know.”

 “Just cuz you’re tired doesn’t mean you can’t fantasize about falling into Hanzo Shimada’s rippling, tattooed arms.” Lúcio piped up, and Hana sighed.  
   
 “I wish they were a little less muscular and tattooed,” She mumbled, “They’re such a pain to detail. Why they decided to make us brush out his tattoo rather than get makeup to put a skin sleeve on him, I will never understand.”

 “It’s because his sleeve is too majestic to cover up, they want to leave it for the world to see until the very last second.” Lύcio said, gesticulating wildly to his left arm.

  “I told y’all, I ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout Hanzo! I was thinkin’ about-” He coughed. “I was thinkin’ that I’m gonna murder the next extra to break their gun and come runnin’ with some crack excuse ‘bout what happened.” He crossed his arms decisively and produced a tiny, challenging nod to the rest of the table.

 Sombra hummed, but her next snarky retort was nipped in the bud by the cute waitress delivering their meals - a heaping plate of burgers and fries, a gigantic grilled chicken sandwich, a plate of tacos, a dangerously long hot dog, and four extra-large vanilla milkshakes. Enough food to feed a family of 8, or a small group of people in the film business. They forgot any heckling that would have taken place as they hastily thanked the waitress and ripped into their meals. Jesse knew that he and Som hadn’t eaten for almost 13 hours. It was two days to the end of the block, and they had been running around, between set and the studio, since 7 that morning.

 As he ate, he mulled over the teasing. His friends were right, he was a little bit enamoured with the show’s lead - one Hanzo Shimada. A child-actor, he had dropped into obscurity after a family scandal and the disappearance of his brother, Genji Shimada. _Overwatch_ , a sci-fi thriller, was the first show Hanzo had done since he was 17. He played the main role of “Michi Yamamoto”, a bowman for a government organization that forms to fight the _omnic_ , a race of killer, sentient robots. The show was badass. Reyes was pretty famous in the niche sci-fi community for his novellas about futuristic human/robot interactions. This was his first series to be adapted for television, and he had refused to give the rights if he were not head writer on the show. Paired with the A-list director, Jack Morrison, the show had built up an insane amount of anticipation without even having released a pilot.

 Jesse had always preferred shows that were fun to make props for, and had jumped at the opportunity to work Overwatch . For six months he had been making glowing weapons and armor, elaborate robot puppets, and insanely-detailed set decorations. Meeting Hanzo, who may have been Jesse’s teenage celebrity crush, was an added bonus. And much to his chagrin, and he would never admit this to Sombra, his teenage crush had come back fully-fledged. He had spent a lot of time in the past months zoning out during the showing of dailies, fantasizing about Hanzo. In one episode, they had a shot of Hanzo exiting a shower, dripping and ripped, towel wrapped dangerously low on his hips. It was purely fanservice, of course. Nonetheless, it had driven Jesse absolutely crazy. Later that day, Sombra had sent him a text with a gif of the scene, which Jesse secretly saves onto his phone.

 Unfortunately, Jesse’s position as prop master didn’t give him that much time to interact with Hanzo. Fortunately, the handful of times they had spoken for longer than a minute or two, Hanzo had flirted with him mercilessly. Jesse was starting to have a glimmer of hope that a date with the actor was somewhere on the horizon. But, they only had one more block left on the show before the first season premiered. With this block almost over, that meant Jesse had three weeks - one week of off time and two more work weeks - to woo Hanzo. The thought made his heart sink a little bit. Despite their fervent flirting, the truth of it was that he and the handsome Shimada weren’t very close at all.

 The group finished their meals, chatted for a few minutes more, and then went their separate ways, most likely to all fall into their beds and pass out until the next day. Jesse climbed into his beat-up old pickup and set off. He liked the silence of his truck after a long day. He loved the people he worked with, but there really was nothing like the calm that came with being alone. If anything, it definitely gave him time to think of one H. Shimada. Jesse definitely did _not_ spend the short drive home thinking about the small streaks of grey in the other man’s hair, or how he arched one perfectly polished brow when looking at any intricate prop.

 Jesse sluggishly unlocked the door to his apartment, not bothering to flick on the lights. He crossed the threshold of his bedroom and flopped onto his bed, kicking off his shoes and pants. He immediately started to drift off to sleep, but just as he was about to drop into unconsciousness, his phone pinged. Groaning, he threw his arm off the side of the bed and fished around in his pants for his phone. Being in his position, he could never ever afford to miss a text or call. Even at 2 AM.

  _(323) 176-9472 - 1:59:03 10/6/17  
__Is this Jesse McCree?_

 Jesse frowned - he didn’t recognize the number.

  _Me - 2:00:00 10/6/17  
__Sure is. Whos this??_

 (323) 176-9472 - 2:03:12 10/6/17  
_This is Hanzo Shimada. I apologize for texting this late._  
_I had a request for my bow, but it is not urgent. Please,_  
_go back to sleep. We will discuss it tomorrow._

  _Me - 2:00:00 10/6/17  
__:) Sure thing darlin. Swing by the shop tomorrow_

 Jesse fell asleep confused, but happy. Hanzo had wanted to talk to something, and Jesse was pretty sure the subject wasn’t props.

 ~

 Hanzo was an idiot. An utter, unrivaled idiot. One of his fellow actors, Angela, had invited him to a dinner party at a restaurant downtown.

 “No reason,” she had said, batting her eyelashes. “We just want to go out and have a good time as a group before the block is over!”

 He hadn’t any plans, so he went. He went, and spent the whole time regretting the decision. He zoned out as Angela and Reinhardt chatted in German, tuning out Mei's chattering. He made a quick departure shortly after the meal concluded, much to the disappointment of his peers. They were not bad people, and it wasn't that Hanzo minded their company. But truly, they were not much more than coworkers.

 After an hour at the late-night gym, Hanzo had returned to his hotel with an air of sadness that even the desk clerk had picked up on. He sulked up the elevator, and into his suite. Huge bay windows showed off an unparalleled view of the valley, but even the glittering lights of the city went unappreciated by Hanzo. He needed to get drunk. He needed to fill a lonely hole in his heart. But, his family was halfway around the world, and he hadn’t bothered to make any friends since he had returned to LA. He tossed his gym duffel onto the couch and b-lined to the fridge, where he retrieved an unopened bottle of sake. He grabbed a glass and headed to his bedroom.

 Two hours later, and over half the wine missing from the bottle, Hanzo had gotten himself lost in imagining dirty things about the head of props on _Overwatch._ The man was fascinating, with a thick southern drawl and a ridiculous cowboy hat always perched on his head. He could only be described as ‘goofy’, always making jokes to extras and demonstrating props in the most convoluted and exaggerated way possible. Despite his unprofessional demeanour, he was truly a magnificent builder - the bow he had built for Hanzo’s character was incredibly well thought out, and astoundingly detailed. On top of that, McCree was overwhelmingly attractive. Hanzo suspected he was ex-military, and though he might have been out of the service for a while, he had maintained much of a soldier’s physique. A bit round around the waist, McCree had thick, muscular arms, and stood a few inches taller than Hanzo. His hair was often pulled back into a small ponytail, and he wore a mangy beard. Hanzo had always been attracted to rougher people.

 Unfortunately for Hanzo, he never had the best judgement a few glasses in. So when the idea to text McCree arose, he had no immediate qualms. He slid off his bed and rustled around on his desk to find the folder given to him by one of the PAs that held the numbers of most of the department heads. He located one Jesse McCree, and tapped the number into his phone. Slowly, Hanzo typed out a message to McCree and sent it. Only then, did he realize it was 2 in the confounded morning and McCree was probably asleep. He smacked his forehead, and groaned. What had he even been planning to get from this, to say to Jesse? He only hoped that the text wouldn’t wake McCree up. He stripped down to his underwear, turned off the lights, and got into bed to stew in self-pity. Surprisingly, his phone pings within seconds.

 McCree’s short reply led Hanzo to believe that he had woken the man up. Guiltily, Hanzo typed, deleted, and retyped his text three times. He settled on a lie - that he wanted to speak to Jesse about his prop weapon. There was no way that he was going to tell the other man that he had contacted him in a drunken, aroused haze. He held his breath as he waited for the man’s response, and his heart fluttered at McCree’s juvenile emoticon and use of the word “darling.” He tossed his phone aside, and went to sleep with that flutter in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! You made it this far!
> 
> Thanks for reading my first ever chapter of my first ever fic. This is unedited! Please, point out any flaws so I can fix 'em up.
> 
> Onwards! (!?)


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